


Stairway To Heaven

by Cerdic519



Category: A Matter of Life and Death (1946), Stairway To Heaven (film), Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, DeanCas Big Bang 2016, Demon John Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Flying, Free Will, Heaven, M/M, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8218481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A Destiel re-telling of the UK 1946 film 'A Matter Of Life And Death' (released in the USA as 'Stairway To Heaven').Castiel believes in free will, destiny and all that jazz; he is an angel after all. He has watched over his namesake, young Englishman Castiel James 'Jimmy' Novak, from the latter's birth, and is upset when the man talks over the radio with handsome American pilot Dean Winchester who is fated to die minutes later. So the angel takes 'measures' that save Dean's life, then arranges for him and Jimmy to meet in person before the whole thing can be sorted out.But of course one does not defy the will of Heaven, let alone Death himself, and expect to get away with it. Dean's happy days with Jimmy come to an end when the airman collapses in a restaurant and, whilst his earthly body undergoes an operation in hospital, his soul is put on trial. Worse, a dark shadow from his own past returns to haunt him, and the man he loves must show he is prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice. It is a matter of life and death - but whose death?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is a Destiel fic, but the human Castiel James Novak is, in the manner of the time, referred to throughout the story as Jimmy. The seraph Castiel watches over him and 'helps' matters along.  
> Artwork by knowmefirst: 

May 2nd, 1945

Castiel James 'Jimmy' Novak was worried.

He shouldn't have been, he supposed, as he cycled along in the spring sunshine, enjoying the route which took him within sight of the beach. He was young – twenty-four – fit, and employed. He had a job lined up at a bank in Canterbury once the fighting came to an end, which could not be long now surely, and a place with his cousin Balthazar, who lived in the town. His own war was nearly over, though that, in a way, was what was troubling him. Men were still fighting and dying because those damned Nazis refused to accept the inevitable. It was very sad.

One might have thought living in a (semi-)converted barn with six girls, all about his own age, would have been plenty enough reason for Jimmy to be happy, but as the little man preferred his prospective partners to be of the male persuasion, it was very much a case of the vegetarian fox living in the hen house. This palatial (ahem!) abode was known locally as 'the funny farm', mainly because it lay on Fumbley Down Farm. Occasionally some stiff in the War Department would raise a fuss about a man living with six girls, but the last one to visit the farm had been very firmly escorted off the premises by his girls, minus his trousers (though the girls had 'kindly' provided him with a large Union Jack to cover his modesty!). Ruby had even taken pictures with an old camera she had borrowed from the farmer for the occasion!

The War Department had subsequently shown a marked disinterest in the place.

Jimmy's parents had only reluctantly accepted his decision to work at the radar station, which lay not only directly beneath the German bombers' flight path to London and the rest of England (1), but until last year had also been in range of the 'supergun' the Germans had installed near Calais, which had pounded poor Dover regularly. Indeed, it had been one of the keys to the British winning the Battle of Britain that their enemy had never fully grasped the importance of the weird little stations whose silent beams watched for them around the clock, making sure that more often than not the British and Allied pilots were airborne and ready to receive them. Though ever since the liberation of France, German air attacks had been few and far between. 

Until something worse had come to replace them, that was. The Germans had developed a new technology, rocket bombs (2). The V-1s could be shot out of the sky by the defending fighters, but they stood little or no chance against the much faster V-2s, whose silent buzz was terrifying in that everyone knew what would happen when it ceased. London had borne the brunt of these attacks, but thankfully the driving back of the enemy had forced the rocket launchers out of range. 

The weekend before last, Jimmy's father and mother had driven the one hundred and fifty miles from Northamptonshire to see him (mercifully they had not brought any of his brothers). Castiel had a nagging suspicion that this visit was partly because his mother wished to see Balthazar, whom she seemed to prefer over most if not all of her own children. At least they had brought small gifts for each of the girls, as he had asked. All in all, his life was pretty good right now.

Yes.

+~+~+

The nine radar operatives at the Threepenny Down Radar Station worked in three shifts, which changed regularly to give each of them a much-needed break. Currently Jimmy was working alongside Donna and Claire, the two girls who came from and lived in the village of St. Saviour's just the other side of the station, so he got to cycle to and from work on his own. Not that he missed the banter of the girls, much as he loved them, although he knew that he would miss them when this was all over.

For the end, he knew, was tantalizingly near. The last reports from Germany had been that the Russians were in the very suburbs of Berlin, but the war elsewhere seemed to just drag on. And there were still possible dangers ahead; the newspapers were filled with rumours that Hitler had an Alpine Redoubt to which he would retreat with some crack troops for a last, desperate stand, whilst the horror stories from the eastern war often made the young man feel sick. Though not as sick as the pictures he had seen in the papers from the concentration camps, and the terrible gas-chambers. They were fighting pure scum!

He supposed, all things considered, he should have thought himself lucky in the way his own war had turned out. His father had owned a paper mill in Leningrad (3) at the start of the way, when Stalin and Hitler had been allies in all but name, but James Novak was far-sighted enough to see that that would not last, especially when England had somehow managed to fend Hitler off in the Battle of Britain. Jimmy's father had sold his business and moved to London just in time; two months later Operation Barbarossa had seen Hitler turn on his fellow dictator. And now, victory was almost within the Allies' grasp.

Jimmy had played his own small part in that victory. He had wanted to become a pilot to start with, but his first and only flight as a passenger ended with him throwing up violently in the plane; it turned out that heights rendered him non-functional as a human being, which was a bit ironic for a man named after an angel. But he had been able to play his part by becoming a radar operative, even though the job was done almost completely by women. Though if that Anna quipped about his being an 'honorary woman' one more time, he was going to something horrible to that tea concoction that she dyed her hair with!

+~+~+

He was greeted at the station by an over-excited Joanna Harvelle. Her mother Ellen ran the station, which was rare as it was nearly always men in charge and women doing the work. Presumably the army had not yet found anyone brave (or suicidal) enough to point this out to Ellen, who was a wonderful mother figure but, Jimmy and all the girls agreed, more terrifying when roused than a Sherman tank!

“It's all but over, Jimbo!” Jo beamed. “The Ruskies have taken Berlin! Mum received a message from Whitehall half an hour ago.”

“So near”, Jimmy said with a smile, looking down. “The map looks quiet.”

The station centre was split into two areas. Below, a group of about twenty local girls from the nearby villages took turns to post information they received on a map of the Kent coast. That information came from Jimmy and his colleagues who sat in what they called the 'eyrie', a sort of balcony overlooking the map. Ellen wore a permanent headset, and would relay information back to the girls and hence to friendly planes, so they could act accordingly. Small wooden markers with coloured metal tabs indicated friendly or hostile aircraft, and the map girls used 'pushers' to move them to their latest recorded position; from the colours, Jimmy could see only three flights of friendly craft, one reconnaissance and two training flights. No hostiles.

“But you'll have some trade later”, Jo said, pointing to where three markers had been moved to the raised oak frame running round the edge of the map. “Those boys went over to bomb something or other hours ago, and they're due back soon. At least we hope so.”

Jimmy hoped so too. He had been lucky so far – he had never had a pilot he was talking to crash or get shot down – but he knew that the experience was terrible. The normally flippant Ruby had lost a young American pilot six weeks ago, shot up whilst she was guiding him in to land, and she had been in shock for some time after.

“Americans or Brits?” Jimmy asked, dragging himself back to the present.

“A mixture”, she said. “One American flight, one British and a mixed British-Canadian one. Must be a big job to need three of them.”

“And it's none of our business!” Ellen said firmly, materializing behind her daughter and making them both jump. “Home time, Joanna Beth.”

Her daughter pouted at her full name, but obeyed. Jimmy smiled at his boss, and went up to take his place.

+~+~+  
1) It was common usage at the time to say 'England' when referring to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Similarly people usually said 'Russians' when 'Soviets' would have been more correct. There are some who, today, find such usages offensive, but one cannot sanitize and rewrite history to suit one's own ends (Neil deGrasse Tyson, take note).  
2) The V-1 (from June 1944) was a flying bomb, averaging 340 m.p.h such that fighters needed a height advantage from which they could descend and accelerate to catch them. They claimed over 20,000 British lives, compared to the 95,000 lost in the Blitz four years earlier. The V-2 (from August 1944) on the other hand was a rocket-bomb, averaging nearly 2,000 m.p.h. Because the Allies had by this time secured their D-Day beachhead the Germans targeted them more, so casualties in England were about 2,500.  
3) Now once again St. Petersburg.


	2. Chapter 2

May 2nd, 1945 

Dean Winchester was worried.

All right, he was gonna die. So yeah, reasons to be a bit concerned.

Damn, he'd spent three years doing this, and he'd always managed to get his Baby home. Except last time, in a plumduff (1) over Hamburg, they'd run into a rare Nazi fighter patrol and she'd been shot up so bad that the grumbling mechanics at the aerodrome had handed him a mock bill for damages. And worse, she'd been sidelined for two weeks, so he'd gotten some crappy Lancaster instead. He really regretted learning to fly the British bomber, which was in his opinion not a patch on his Baby, a stunning B-17 with a painting of Dean's car back home on the side. Still, it would just be for one mission.

That had turned out to be all too true. It was gonna be just for one mission. His last!

“Dean!” Adam said, yelling to make himself heard above the stuttering engines. “We need to get out now!

Dean nodded at his co-pilot and flight engineer.

“Vic!” he yelled into the back of the plane. “Where are we?”

“Think we just crossed the coast west of a place called Hythe!” his navigator yelled back. Dean hoped he knew what he was talking about; the thick fog that surrounded the dying plane meant they could be about to cross the Atlantic for all he knew..

“The rest of you, out!” Dean yelled at them. “I'm gonna turn this pile of crap so it doesn't splat down on some Olde English yeoman, then I'll follow!”

He hoped desperately that they would do as he ordered. They were a good bunch, and they deserved to live to see the end of the war, which was surely so close now. Adam was a distant cousin of his, which was how they had gravitated together. Dean had had to fight to get Victor as his navigator, nearly punching some three-star turd when the moron had suggested that a black man would never be able to understand the navigation systems of a plane. Kevin had arrived in the USA from somewhere in the Far East he didn't like talking about some four years back, and was a deadly aimer. And Ash, the wireless operator who looked permanently stoned out of his mind and had hair that looked like a science experiment gone horribly wrong, yet could always focus on the job when needed. 

God, he'd miss them.

Thankfully they all did as he said, though Victor gave him a worried look as he disappeared last through the tiny escape hatch. Once he was gone, Dean counted to ten and then gently banked the plane round until it was headed north-east. He considered trying to gain height, but that might make the engines give up and bring him down over land, which wasn't an option. If Vic had been right, then he had to continue on this course for at least two minutes – all pilots knew the map of southern England like the backs of their hands – after which he would somewhere around South Foreland. From there he could head this pile of junk out into the wide expanses of the North Sea.

He pulled out the last parachute and stared at it grimly. More holes in it than a tea-bag (thanks to the English, he had had more than enough of that foul drink!), and totally useless. He was a dead man. Still, he strapped it on anyway.

He really hoped he'd get to meet his mother in Heaven.

+~+~+

At the station, Ellen's usual system was that one person was permanently on call for pilots, one was assigned to messages from other stations, and the third was used for times of excess demand. Today Jimmy was 'third girl', a term he had long given up fighting against.

“You are an honorary girl. Jimbo”, Anna had told him one time he had objected. “That cute face and that little smile of yours. And besides, you like men!”

That, Jimmy thought as he stirred his tea, was the problem. This was 1945, and homosexuality was still politely ignored by the English as a whole, though as more than one of the girls had pointed, out, Albert Tallock and Ernest Hampton who shared a small house in the village seemed 'close'. It was just Jimmy's luck that the only two young and reasonably attractive men in this place had found each other before he had turned up.

“You should be grateful”, he told Anna, who had stayed behind to finish up some paperwork. “I warned you over that salesman who came round the other day, and I was right there.”

“I still think Constable Penry-Jones over-reacted”, she said, a little sullenly. “He only had his hand on my leg.”

“Higher, higher!” Jimmy coughed into his hand. She glared at him.

“Jimmy?” Ellen called out. “We need you.”

He took his tea and hurried upstairs, trying to ignore the large sign that someone had affixed to the stair wall. One of the girls had obviously worked out the angelic origins of his name and had put the sign up, which read 'Stairway To Heaven'. He worried sometimes about the so-called English sense of humour.

“What is it?” he called, walking over to the third post. Lisa and Donna were already busy.

“That raid that went over this morning”, his boss said. “Mixed news. One squadron made it back all right, but the other two are coming back in dribs and drabs.”

He caught the look on her face, and he immediately knew.

“One of them isn't going to make it, is he?” he said flatly.

“His crew have bailed out over Hythe, and he's taking his plane to ditch it in the North Sea”, she said carefully. A little too carefully, Jimmy noticed. “I just need someone to... talk him through.”

She knew. They all did. Ruby had said it after the pilot she had been talking to had been shot, and she'd admitted later that something in his voice had told her that this was a man who knew he was going to meet his Maker. Jimmy gulped.

“I'm on it”, he said, sitting down and reaching for the headset. “What's his name?”

“Captain Dean Winchester.”

+~+~+  
1) Plumduff: airman slang for a major bombing raid on heavy industry.


	3. Chapter 3

May 2nd, 1945 

Death was worried.

This in itself should be worrying if not downright terrifying, that one of the most powerful forces in the universe was, well, worried. Because Death could of course foresee the future, and he Did Not Like It (capitals necessary, given what was about to go so spectacularly pear-shaped). And whilst there were all sorts of possibilities as to how things could be set back on the rails, he had a Bad Feeling (again, capitals necessary) about the whole forthcoming palaver. Then again, one man's complete and utter calamity of the first order was another supernatural being's opportunity for even more pain and suffering, or however the saying went.

It might be observed at this point that Death did not actually look like, um, death. True, for many years he had gone around in the uniform everyone expected, because at the end of the day he was a traditionalist at heart (it kind of came with the job). But that scythe was damned heavy and kept giving him splinters, the glowing eyes gave him regular headaches (or skull-aches), and only having a skeleton under that thin cloak was bloody freezing, especially when collecting those inconsiderate enough to die in polar latitudes! So he'd decided that, since he was one of the most powerful forces in the universe, he could damned well please himself. He currently looked like a gaunt young dark-haired professor of indeterminate age (most definitely true!) and in need of a good meal (not quite so true; Death had a thing for fatty foods and, somewhat unfairly, wasn't above using his powers to ensure that he stayed thin no matter how much he ate).

Contrary to what many people believed, Death did not turn up to collect every single person who died, mostly because he didn't have the time. (All right, if we're being strictly honest here, he had all the time in the world, but fortunately either no-one had noticed that or they were too afraid to bring it up with him). He did of course find time for some people, both those who deserved it for all the good they had done on Earth, and also for those who deserved it because they were evil, vile bastards who were about to discover that no matter how much you don't believe in the afterlife, that doesn't stop you going to Hell. Or worse. As a certain European ruler he had collected the day before yesterday was currently finding out to his cost. Yes, with a bit of dimensional adjustment you could shove all three prongs of a pitchfork.... right up there!

The actual collection of the dead was done by an upstairs department, the Human Soul Collection Agency, known around Heaven as Souls 'R Us (Death worried about his brother sometimes). The bodies were of course no longer needed, as although the soul kept its final human form until checking in, it could then take whatever age and appearance it so wished. Most humans went to Heaven, although all that stuff about there being seven different levels depending on how good you were in life were bunkum. It was twelve levels, and no amount of praying or false sentiment was going to get you a free upgrade. Hell also had twelve levels, which.... well, you can work it out.

And now Death's plans were about to be Upset, which meant that he was Severely Miffed. He would have pouted, but he had been told by his butler Hudson that it made him look older (no, he hadn't worked that one out), so he refrained.

The reader may wonder at this point in the story as to why, given this being's vast power and far-seeing abilities, he did not merely circumvent the forthcoming disaster with a snap of his fingers. Unfortunately, Death shared with humanity that annoying thing called a memory which recalls things that the owner does not really wish to be recalled, in particular what had happened the last time he'd tried to deflect history in that way. It had been in a little place called Atlantis.

Death did not blush. Which was fortunate!

+~+~+

Samandriel was not worried.

“You're worried”, said Inias.

“Petrified!” the young angel muttered. “My first mission. I just know it'll go wrong!”

“Why worry, then?” Castiel yawned from his chair. “Raphael will blast you into a million pieces, and Dad'll reassemble you when he gets round to it. Or Mum will.”

“Thanks a bunch!” Samandriel scowled, running his hand through his bond hair.

The angel was young, it might be said, in experience only, as he had precisely nil. He had died in a Birmingham (England) factory explosion exactly a century before, having run back in to try to save a fellow child worker. Normally new members of Heaven had to wait five hundred years before being assigned the special wings and halo (the latter still itched, damn it!) of the H.S.C.A, but in light of his bravery Samandriel had been promoted after just a century. This was described in Heaven as 'the fast track', which probably goes to show that even being dead does not stop you from finding yourself on the receiving end of irony.

What really worried Samandriel was that, thanks to the (bad) luck of the draw, he had ended up working on the Archangel Raphael's shift. Rafe (and one only called him that to his face if one actually enjoyed being blasted into a million pieces) was far and away the strictest of the three archangels; Michael was stern but fair, whilst Gabriel was funny yet got things done. But at least Samandriel would have a light start; new angels at the Agency only ever had one pick-up a week until they were considered 'ready' for full-time work. 

Raphael looked down his long nose at his newest recruit. He was very clearly not impressed.

“Well, Alfie”, he smiled unpleasantly. “We have your assigned pick-up for today. A little difficult, as he's a pilot about to crash into the English Channel....” he looked at his watch, “soon.”

“Rafe”, Gabriel said sharply from his table across the room, “please refer to our newest member by his angel name, not his human one. That's disrespectful.”

“I believe that I am in charge today, Gabe?” Raphael said unpleasantly.

“I shall tell Mummy about the German tank!” Gabriel said in a sing-song voice. Raphael paled.

“You wouldn't dare!” he hissed.

“Oh come on!” Castiel grinned from his chair. “Of course he would!”

Raphael scowled, but turned back to his newest recruit.

“There are five people on the plane, but four of them are just about to bail out”, he said sharply. “The man is blond, twenty-four years of age, American and is resigned to his fate. He has just committed an act of heroism which marks him out as Important, which is why he has been assigned an angel rather than just being monitored on his way here. Kindly bear that in mind, Al..... Samandriel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Your mission is Captain Dean Winchester.”


	4. Chapter 4

May 2nd, 1945 

“Hullo, Dean.”

Dean stared at the radio in astonishment. Yeah, he'd been guided in by radar operatives before, but of two things in his about to be unfairly terminated life he was sure. One, they were always chicks (yeah, he flirted with all of them, but that was in the job description, damn it!) but this was no chick. And two, his dick had just twitched. 

He stared down incredulously. Now, of all times? Come on!

“Uh, howdy”, he managed feebly, staring out into the unchanging thick fog., and glancing at his watch. He had to be past Folkestone now, with only Dover between himself and his destiny. He'd jump once he was sure the plane was clear of land, for all the good it would do him. “Who the blazes are you, buddy?”

There was a dirty chuckle down the line, and Dean felt himself get even harder. He was sure there had to be some punishment in Heaven for spending your last few minutes of existence thinking lustful thoughts, but ye Gods, that voice! 

“”My name is Castiel Novak”, came the reply, “but everyone calls me Jimmy. I'll be the one guiding you home today.”

Dean resisted the urge to face-palm at the irony of it all. Thanks to his late mother's love for angel lore, he knew that Castiel was the Angel of Thursday, although maybe that was a sign he would get into Heaven, after all. He'd committed enough sins and crap to make such a thing far from certain, mostly in the bedchamber. And he'd enjoyed nearly all of them, except for that waitress who.....

“Sounds good, little buddy”, he agreed, dragging his mind forcibly out of the gutter. “But I'm dumping this heap of shit in that lake next door to your pretty little island, and bailing once I'm over the wet stuff. Just hope there's some nice friendly fisherman to bring me home. You tell me where I am according to those magic beams of yours?”

Jimmy chuckled, and his laugh was even more of a growl. It was Not Helping Dean's little problem.

“If you maintain your current course, you will be passing South Foreland in just under two minutes”, he said. 

“Great!” Yeah, great. He had two minutes plus as long as it took him to impact into the cold North Sea at two hundred miles an hour. And he had Mister Sex Voice on the radio!

“So we have a few minutes before you take an unexpected bath.” The radio crackled momentarily, and Dean tensed, praying that the connection held. It would just be his luck that he found someone like his angel and then got cut off almost at once. The radio power light flashed briefly, but stayed lit. Dean sighed in relief.

“Sorry, buddy, you almost cut out on me”, Dean said, knowing his voice was strained with relief, but not caring. “What'd you say?”

“I was asking what you are most looking forward to when you get home”, Jimmy asked. 

“Probably a hot bath, a walk on the beach and a frisky bed mate”, he said, thinking ruefully that he would never experience any of those luxuries again. “What about you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What do you do to relax, Jimmy? Tell me about yourself. I mean, start with why you're doing a job that only girls do.”

He wished the words unsaid as soon as they were out, but the other man merely laughed.

“I wanted to be a bold, brave pilot like you”, he said, sounding sad, “but I have a medical condition which means I black out when flying. Odd, considering I'm named for an angel.”

“Of Thursday”, Dean said distractedly.

The silence was painful.

“You know that?” Jimmy asked, clearly surprised.

“Uh, yeah”, Dean said. There was a brief break in the clouds, and he thought he could see houses beneath him, which had to be the town of Dover. Not long now. “We should go out for a drink when I get back, you know. Talk angel stuff and crap.”

Again, the silence.

“Sorry”, Dean blustered. “Shoulda told you. When I said frisky bed mate, I was being sorta, you know, well, dishonest. I like my sleeping partners to, uh, have stubble, if you know what I mean.”

The chuckle was low and dirty.

“Dean”, it growled. “I have stubble. All the time.”

“Yeah?” Dean squeaked. He sounded like he was inhaling helium. And his cock was getting even harder. Damn it!

“I'll be waiting”, Jimmy promised. “I can't promise to take you to Heaven, Dean Winchester, but I will give it my best sh...”

The radio died without warning, giving only a sad, mechanical hiss. Dean took a deep breath and checked his watch again. Three minutes. He had to be a over the coast by now, nit that it really mattered. He jammed the controls to fly level – there was only enough fuel for another twenty minutes or so - then checked on his useless 'chute and saluted the little Texas flag he kept on the instrument panel, before quickly stuffing it in his pocket.

Not unless you're really an angel, Jimmy, he thought sadly, as he made his way to the escape hatch.

+~+~+

Jimmy slowly took off the headset and stared at it like it was alien to him. The others kept their own conversations low. Several minutes passed.

“Signal lost, about ten miles east of South Foreland”, Donna said eventually. “He must have ditched.”

They all knew. Jimmy looked at Ellen, who nodded. He stood up and slowly made his way to the small store-room just off the main corridor into the place. And there, amidst the mops and buckets and cleaning supplies, he broke down and cried.

+~+~+

Free Will is a vitally important concept, and it is a matter of faith that those that have celestial power do not abuse it. But, weird as it sounds to say it, angels are only human.

The angel Castiel was a seraphim, which meant that love was not one of his responsibilities. Though his own name was almost unknown on Earth, he kept a watchful eye over those few who bore it. This was not official policy, but his Father generally did not mind all his angels having what amounted to a hobby, provided they got their regular jobs done. 

The seraphim had long felt a particular fondness for Castiel James 'Jimmy' Novak, watching the young man's progress and allowing him to just live his life. He had known when the boy had been named that not only was there here a soul pure and true, but that Jimmy was destined for great things; the angel could have foreseen what, but his Father disapproved of future-seeing ('disapproved' in the sense of 'smiting and keeping disassembled for a thousand years disapproved'). So Castiel watched over his near-namesake, and let him live his life unhindered (well, he may have hinted to the boy's father about the advisability of quitting the Soviet Union that one time, but only in a dream, and it could never be proved, so there!).

Castiel had seen the conversation with Dean, and had immediately known. And now the Fates were aligning so that the one man with whom his near-namesake could have found true happiness was fated to die and come to Heaven, where he would have to wait decades for his true love to arrive. But then, who was to say those same fates did not want an angel who just happened to sort of share a name as one of the parties involved to make a small adjustment to reality?

At least that was Castiel's reasoning, and he was sticking to it!

English fogs are chancy things. And as a high-level angel, Castiel was easily able to conceal himself from his brother Samandriel, whilst making the fog bank he was flying into even thicker. And possibly sending him to the wrong plane. He knew that of course his Father would be aware of his actions, but that didn't matter. 

Because Mother would approve. And everyone knew who was really in charge of Heaven!


	5. Chapter 5

May 2nd, 1945 

The Archangel Raphael was not annoyed. He was not upset. He was not cross.

He had passed all those emotions a bloody long time ago, and by now he was absolutely and completely furious! Raw power crackled around him like electricity on drugs, and the very fabric of Heaven shuddered at his fury.

“Your first assignment!” he yelled at the hapless Samandriel, who stood before him, his cream wings hanging dejectedly behind him. “I can't believe it.! Your very first assignment, and you screw it up!”

“Rafe.....”

“Shut up, Gabriel! I am in charge today, and what I say goes.”

“I just think...”

“Shut up!”

“Mommy and Daddy want to see you!”

Raphael went deathly pale.

“What?” he ground out. 

“You and Samandriel”, Gabriel said. “Like, five minutes ago. I tried to tell you.”

He would have felt sorry for his older brother, but Raphael was a bit of a bully, and it would do him good to have to face up to this mess. Not that it was any of Gabriel's business of course. 

That conversation he had had with Castiel a few days ago could never be proven, anyway! And his brother had been grateful for the advance warning.

+~+~+

God was sitting in a comfortable chair, frowning at a chess-board when the two angels entered his room. Like rather too many places in Heaven, the place looked perfectly ordinary until one tried to focus on the exact dimensions, which then seemed to move away until the eyes ached trying to follow them.

“Samandriel, my son”, God said, not looking up. “It seems that we are one person short in the roll-call today. Is there a reason?”

Samandriel swallowed nervously, and stared very hard at the ground.

“I was sent to collect a pilot, sir”, he said. “Unfortunately I ran into a heavy fog bank, and I, uh, somehow tracked the wrong plane. By the time I realized my error, my wings were sodden, and I had to land to dry them out. Those English fogs are terrible, Father.”

“And what happened to the pilot, Raphael?” God asked distractedly, toying with a knight.

“Jumped with a broken parachute, Father”, the archangel said sharply. “He is currently lying unconscious on a beach. He should be dead!”

“Indeed”, God said coolly.

Further conversation was prevented by the arrival of Mrs. God, bearing the usual assortment of shopping bags. Her husband looked at her and sighed.

“Paris again?” he asked tiredly.

“It's so much nicer now those ghastly Germans are gone!” she trilled. “Have you given them the bad news yet?”

“More bad news?” Raphael asked, glaring at the angel beside him. Samandriel seemed set on trying to hide himself beneath his wings.

“Well, there's bad news, and then there's really bad news”, Mrs. God said, pulling out a bright pink feather boa and throwing it around her neck. All three men winced. “I love this! Which to give first?”

Raphael entertained some uncharitable thoughts before he could stop himself. His Father scowled at him.

“My brother called”, God said flatly, looking hard at the archangel. “As you can well imagine, he is Displeased. Things are difficult enough down there, with so many of the people who started or encouraged this awful war getting their just desserts, and even though this pilot was destined for Heaven, my brother does not like it when the figures do not balance. He had more than enough trouble with that damned Orpheus, if you recall.”

“Silly boy, looking back like that!” Mrs. God pronounced, sitting on one of the two thrones in the room. “Anyway, that was the bad news.”

Raphael's eyes widened.

“What in Father's name was the really bad news, then?” he demanded.

God and Mrs. God looked at each other. The silence was beyond painful.

“It seems”, God said slowly, “that in the extra time we inadvertently granted to Captain Dean Winchester, he may have contrived to fall in love.”

“It's so sweeeeeet!” Mrs. God trilled. Raphael's face contorted with the effort not to say something inappropriate. 

“He can't!” he said firmly. “His time is up. That is the law.”

“That is the law in Heaven”, God pointed out. “Where, thanks to us, he is not. This is going to be problematical.....”

“Oooh, I love a romance!” his wife smiled. 

Raphael prayed for strength. His Father shook his head slightly.

+~+~+

So this was Heaven?

Dean had to admit, he was... disappointed. All right, so he hadn't known what to expect, but he'd kind of hoped it would be his mother's house with her in it, blue skies (they had to have something above them, surely) and everything wonderful. Instead, his heaven seemed to be a beach where he was still wearing the uniform and even the bullet-ridden 'chute that had just cost him his young life. And the sand he was lying on was uncomfortable. And it was drizzling. And he was still damp.

Yeah, disappointed. But he wasn't complaining. There was no-one to complain to, for starters. Not even St. Peter and a set of pearly gates.

It was also damned cold, even with his flight kit on, and the skies were a dull uniform grey, darker clouds scuttling across in front of lighter ones further up. Apparently the tide still did its thing up here, because gentle waves were lapping the shore not far from where he was lying. He shrugged off his 'chute and pulled himself up.

Heaven looked a bit like the Old Country, he thought wryly. There were cliffs to the north and west of him, and the outline of a village in the distance some way inland. A high cliff blocked the view north, and there was what looked like a radar station perched on the top of it. Perhaps the place worked like that; your starting point was where you died, and things got better from there. Hopefully.

He started off towards the village. But he hadn't gone more than a few steps before he heard a familiar noise from behind him. He turned in confusion.

One of the odder things Dean had had to do when coming to England was to learn to identify enemy and friendly bombers not just by sight, but by sound. He knew that noise, but it was impossible. They couldn't have those in Heaven – could they? 

Seconds later, a single Mozzy (1) flew low overhead, its wheels down and obviously coming into land. Dean blinked, then looked down at himself.

“Shit!” he muttered. “I'm alive!”

Then he heard something else. It was the sound of a bicycle bell, and a moment later the rider emerged around a corner of the road that must run along the back of the beach he was on. Dean stared, then sprinted towards him.

“Hey!” he yelled, thankful that he was so fit as there was some distance to cover. “Can you tell me....?”

He stopped. The man had stopped and put his feet down to balance himself, and was staring at him in disbelief.

“Dean?”

He knew that voice. Was he in Heaven after all? And if so, what was Jimmy doing there?

+~+~+  
1) Mosquito: a 'jack of all trades' twin-engine aeroplane which did not attain the fame of its contemporaries, the Spitfire and Hurricane, mainly because it had so many different uses. Tested in 1940 and first used two years after that, it was the workhorse of the later war years. Its wooden frame gave it a top speed over over 400 m.p.h.


	6. Chapter 6

May 2nd, 1945 

“Dean?” 

Jimmy wished the utterance unsaid almost before it left his lips. Yes, the pilot whose gorgeous Texas drawl had sent a thrill through his body must have come down somewhere off the shore here, but for him to be standing there in the fading light – it was impossible! He should currently be dripping wet and, God willing, shivering on some fishing-boat making its way back to Dover or Deal. It couldn't be.....

“Jimmy?”

A Texan drawl, so dearly familiar even though he had only heard it for a few precious minutes. Still, what was the point of miracles if they never happened?

He drank in the sight before him, and was hard put (all right, he was that too!) to resist a shudder. The man was impossibly more gorgeous than his voice, even in his battered flight uniform. He had kissable lips, green eyes, short blond hair and a muscular figure that the smaller man was suddenly itching to climb all over. Which was ridiculous of course, because there was no way an Adonis like this would want someone short and scruffy like him.

“You're perfect!”

It took several seconds to register in Jimmy's befuddled brain that those words had not come from his mouth. He stared at the pilot in astonishment.

“I...”

He got no further, because the pilot covered the distance between them in three long strides and pulled him into an embrace, his taller figure enabling him to nuzzle into Jimmy's neck like he belonged there. The smaller man wobbled astride his bicycle, and was so shocked that he just stood there. 

Suddenly the propriety – or lack of – of Dean's actions seemed to hit home to the American, and he let go of Jimmy as if he had been burnt. 

“Sorry”, he said, blushing so intensely that the freckles on his gorgeous face seemed to stand out even more. He looked...... scared. “I shouldn't have done that. I just wanted....”

“I wanted you to”, Jimmy said softly, looking up at him in wonderment. “Indeed, it is a reasonable supposition that I would not be averse to you repeating the process, on more than one future occasion if you are so inclined.”

For some reason that seemed to break the horrible tension. Dean chuckled.

“Gee, you talk like you've swallowed a dictionary, Jimmy!” he smiled. “I can't believe that you guided me home, and now you're here.” His face suddenly seemed to darken. “Unless this is Heaven, and you're my dream come true?”

Jimmy never knew why he did what he did next. He had always been shy and retiring, awkward around just about everyone. But now he got off his bike, placed it carefully at the side of the road, and came back to stand close to the pilot.

“Let me prove to you that it isn't” he said, before taking the taller man in a kiss.

Dean Winchester's face whilst being kissed was even more beautiful, it turned out.

+~+~+

The nearest aerodrome was Hawkinge, only a few miles inland. However, Dean proved surprisingly persuadable when asked to accompany Jimmy back to the station, which the smaller man knew could telephone the news of the pilot's survival to them.

Dean's survival. Even in the thick haze of happiness which was now surrounding him, Jimmy felt something was a little odd about it.

“I thought you were bailing out over the sea?” he ventured eventually. “But you're not that wet.”

“Yeah, I wondered 'bout that”, Dean said with an easy smile, and Jimmy could get lost in that voice and those forest green eyes. “I came to on the beach; I s'pose I must have blacked out when I hit the sea, and somehow floated ashore.”

“But you had a parachute”, Jimmy pointed out.

Dean blushed.

“I, uh, may have sort of lied to you about that, Jimmy, he admitted ruefully.

Jimmy began to feel nervous.

“Why?” he asked.

“Plane got shot up pretty bad over there”, he said. “I left Adam flying it, and went back to check it out just after we'd started back. They peppered both parachute storages; there were only four left that were any good.”

He stopped. Jimmy worked with planes, and he would know what that meant.

“You sent your four crew-mates out, and stayed behind with a ruined parachute”, he said quietly.

“Yeah.”

Jimmy still felt that something wasn't quite right here, but he had enough experience in his short life to know not to spend it worrying. He had Dean. The details could wait till later.

“Maybe the thing was in better condition that you thought”, he offered.

“Maybe”, Dean agreed, ruffling the smaller man's hair. “Either way, I'm here now.”

Jimmy smiled, and put the matter to the back of his mind.

+~+~+

“Father”, Castiel said, his dark wings hanging respectively low, “I would like to take an interest in this case.”

God looked at him sharply.

“That fog bank that Samandriel got lost in seemed unusually thick, even for England”, he said, staring hard at the Angel of Thursday. “And it seems more than a little strange that even a novice Collector ended up at the wrong plane. Any thoughts, my son?”

“The English fogs are renowned”, Castiel said with an easy smile. “And one Lancaster looks very like another, Father.”

“Hmm”, his Father said, looking at him appraisingly. “Normally, I would assign the angel who missed the collection to sort out his own mess, but this matter is Serious. Besides which, I rather think that poor Samandriel needs to get his confidence up, let alone exposing him to the hell – I use the word tangentially, you understand – that is about to break loose. So yes, you may take an interest. Your first task will be to explain to Captain Dean Winchester that his time is up.”

“What about Raphael?” Castiel asked.

“I shall tell him that, as Samandriel's direct superior, he cannot be involved”, God said smoothly. “It would be a conflict of interest. He will not like it, but since he loves his rules, he will accept it. Go down and speak to the pilot.”

“You know what he will say”, Castiel said.

“I am God, you know!”, his Father said, Not Rolling his eyes. “He will refuse to come, given the rather unfortunate developments that have ensued, so you are to make him the following offer.....”


	7. Chapter 7

May 3rd, 1945 

Anyone who knew him would probably agree that Dean Winchester was a fast mover. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, that was his philosophy when dating, so for him to be taking a prospective sleeping partner out on a date just hours after first meeting them was not that unusual.

What was unusual was the fact that Dean Winchester was currently absolutely and completely terrified! Jimmy Novak was gorgeous, adorably shy with that cute little face, that growly voice, and a body..... oh Lordy hallelujah!

The pilot silently thanked his lucky stars that Jimmy was still in his room, Dean having just rolled up in a borrowed car up at the farm where he stayed. His commanding officer had not been happy about his going out before his post-flight medical check, but unfortunately their resident medico was down with food poisoning, so it would have to wait a day or so. Dean's war was over.

He really hoped that his love life was just beginning.

Jimmy fairly ran out of the barn followed by two girls, one redhead and one blonde. Both were attractive enough, but Dean only had eyes for the perfect man who almost fell into the seat beside him. His angel scrambled into the seat next to him.

“Please drive!” Jimmy moaned.

Dean smiled and put the car into gear. But not before the two girls had held up home-made banners reading 'Go Jimbo!'. The smaller man held his head in his hands, visibly embarrassed. The pilot chuckled, but accelerated away.

+~+~+

This was almost too good. Jimmy had directed him to a low cliff that overlooked the sea, and his face when Dean showed him the picnic basket he had brought – well, it was definitely worth the teasing Dean had got from Missouri and the ladies in the canteen at the aerodrome. And the sheer bliss on the little guy's face when he nibbled at one of the small cakes – look, Dean was trying to be a gentleman here, and the sexy radar operator was making it damned hard!

In both senses!

They were both lying on their backs after the food, looking up into the clear blue skies, the fog of yesterday having thankfully gone. Dean sighed happily.

“I love just being here with you, Jimmy”, he said.

There was no reply. He lifted himself up and looked at the smaller man. Jimmy was lying there with his eyes shut, presumably having fallen asleep, the sexy bastard. Dean chuckled, plucked a blade of grass and tickled the smaller man's nose with it.

“Jimmy?”

No answer. Dean immediately started to worry. He reached over to touch the man on his face, only to jump violently when a voice came from behind him.

“He can't hear you.”

Dean yelped, and scrambled to his feet. He stared at the newcomer incredulously. They were in the middle of a field, yet the guy had just appeared right next to them. What the hell?

“Not hell”, the man said smoothly. “The other place.”

The newcomer was... well, he was pretty much Jimmy Mark Two. Dean switched his gaze briefly back to make sure his radar operator was still there, but he was. 

“Who are you?” Dean demanded.

“Castiel”, the man said with a small smile. 

“You can't be”, Dean said firmly. “My Castiel is here. And how did you get to sneak up on us both?”

“I am an Angel of the Lord, Dean.”

The pilot stared at him.

“My mom said that Castiel was the Angel of Thursday”, he said uncertainly. “But you can't be an angel!”

The man sighed, then seemed to concentrate. The next moment, two huge black wings flared out behind him, spreading so high and wide that they temporarily blocked out the sun. Dean shuddered, and the wings seemed to fade into transparency.

“Okay”, he said nervously. “You're an angel, fine. What do you want?”

Castiel smiled.

“I am the seraph Castiel”, he said, “and as such I take a special interest in those who bear my name, including your friend here.”

“But you can't look like him”, Dean objected.

The angel sighed, and seemed to think for a moment.

“I believe you spent some time in a city called New York before being shipped over?” he said. “Whilst you were there you saw some of the sights, including the Chrysler Building.”

“Yeah”, Dean said warily.

“In my true form, I am approximately the same size as that structure”, the angel said calmly. “I have three heads, six wings, and would probably – how does your talented base cook say it? - 'scare the living crap out of you' if I appeared like that. However, since taking an interest in your friend here, I have chosen his form as my human one. It is somewhat less alarming, you would agree?”

Dean looked back at Jimmy, who was still lying there with his eyes shut. He wasn't even breathing, but he looked at peace.

“Do not worry about him”, the angel said. “I have just stopped time in the area, for everyone except us.”

“You can do that?” Dean asked disbelievingly. 

The angel pointed upwards, and Dean followed his line to see a seagull suspended over the cliff edge, its wings motionless.

“Impressive”, he muttered. “So what do you want with me?”

“I am afraid that I have some bad news for you”, Castiel said. “Your plane crash yesterday. You were scheduled to die in it, but the angel sent to collect you missed you in that fog.”

“Well, bad luck him”, Dean said. “Your bad. See ya in seventy years or so. Bye!”

The angel shook his head.

“It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid, Dean”, he said sadly. “You were due to die, and die you must.”

“No!” Dean said forcibly. “Look, I don't know about Heaven, but aren't there rules for when you guys mess up? And besides....”

He stopped. Castiel looked at him, seemingly waiting.

“Besides what?” he asked. 

“Doesn't love conquer all?” Dean asked hopefully, “I found Jimmy here. I wanna be with him. I wanna take him back to Texas and live together, man and.... well, man. It's your fault our love grew to where I love him so much, I can't live... can't live.....”

He stopped, trying to catch his breath.

“You feel you can't live without him, and yet you must die”, Castiel said softly. “Well, there is something.”

“Go on”, Dean said eagerly.

“First”, the angel said, “I should warn you that it will not be easy. Death himself has taken a personal interest in your case, as he hates it when the figures do not tally. He is a bit like that, especially when there's a war on. But God had spoken, and decreed that since this is partly Heaven's mistake...”

“Completely”, Dean put in. The angel smiled slightly.

“Then you should be allowed to put your case”, Castiel said. “You shall have a fair trial, and you may choose anyone in Heaven to represent you. A jury of Heaven shall decide your fate, against which there is no appeal. You have three days, Dean. Use them wisely.”

“I love clouds.”

Dean looked down, to where Jimmy now had his eyes open, eyes as blue as the sky he was staring up at. They were alone in the field.

Despite the sunny skies, Dean felt cold.....


	8. Chapter 8

May 3rd, 1945

Relatives dropping by to visit is rarely a good thing. When one of those relatives happens to be Death himself, it tends to drop right off the scale.

Death eyed the huge pile of bags in the corner of the room, and turned to his brother.

“Honolulu?” he asked.

“Yes”, God said tiredly. “She only wears them a few times If that, then zaps them back to the shop she got them from and buys more. Honestly, I can't keep saying 'is that new, dear?' and maintain a straight face! And if there's another grass skirt in there, I am starting on the coffee again.”

Death smirked. God looked hard at him.

“Oh, and she got you that book you asked for.”

God did Not Smirk as he handed over a slim volume. Unfortunately for Death, the only trouble with not blushing is when you have a brother who knows exactly when you are Not Blushing.

“It's my new Level Four wheeze”, Death said, a little defensively. “The people there can get up to Heaven if they can control their weight for a given time.”

“I'm guessing Level Four has a certain preponderance of cream cakes and other delights?” God ventured.

“Yup!”

God smiled.

“Anyway, to business”, he said. “Dean Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester”, Death said heavily. “The missing man.”

“I have offered him a trial”, God said carefully, “He has three days to sort his defence, then he must plead his case in front of a jury of six. No appeal.”

“Judge?” Death asked

“Eddie Coke (1)", God said unhesitatingly. 

“Sound man”, Death said. “I get to pick who represents me?”

“Anyone you wish”, God said, “though I think it would be better if you didn't do it yourself.”

“Agreed”, Death said. “Who picks the jury?”

“That would be for your man and Captain Winchester's to sort out”, God said. “If you cannot agree, then it should be three each, and Eddie to have the final say if they are deadlocked when it comes to the verdict. Thankfully being dead tends to make people much more open-minded; two men loving each other won't be a problem.”

“It really is incredibly vexing”, Death said with a frown. “I am glad that you set it to just three days, brother. I don't know how, but in some way word has gotten around downstairs, and it's hard to punish people who have gossip to distract them.”

“Gossip is one of the incomprehensible forces in the universe”, God promised. “But you can trust in God!”

His brother rolled his eyes.

+~+~+

Sam Winchester rolled his eyes.

“You can't just spring this on me and expect me to come up with answers straight away!” he said frustratedly. “I'm a lawyer, Dean, not a miracle worker.”

“Three days, Sammy!” Dean said frantically, pacing back and forth across the small office (quite an achievement, as it was barely two strides across). “I could be dead in three days' time! Again!”

His brother paused. He had come over with Dean three years back, but whereas the elder brother had got all the glamour of being a pilot, Sam Winchester was a military lawyer, often sorting out cases of friction between his fellow Americans and their hosts. He had grown to like the English as a nation, but was still looking forward to going back to the States.

Except now this.

“You sure it wasn't a hoax?” he asked. 

“The guy stopped time!” Dean said, running his fingers through his short hair. “I saw that damned seagull flying over the cliff, and it wasn't moving at all, but the clouds behind it were! No wind, not even any sound, just him. And Cas was frozen too.”

“You like this Cas, then?” Sam said carefully. He was one of a small number of people who knew Dean's sexual preferences, but even he knew better than to push too hard over, cough, emotional stuff, cough. His macho brother, the epitome of manliness in so many ways, hated talking about 'feelings'.

“I love him!”

Sam stared at him in amazement.

“What?” Dean asked defensively.

“Just... I've never heard you use that word about anyone before”, Sam said slowly. “Even Aaron, and you were with him for nearly a year. In like Flynn, that's the Dean Winchester way.”

His brother reddened.

“Yeah, well, it's Cas”, he said. “And if you make me talk feelings, I'm kidnapping you to that circus in Margate and putting you in the front row when the clowns come on!”

Sam snorted.

“That psychic at the State Fair said clowns would be the death of me one day”, he muttered sulkily. “She was right about everything else.”

“Poor Sammy!” his brother teased. “Clown-phobia! Terrible affliction!”

“I'll go down the library after dinner”, Sam said. “But you're buying, and we're going to that decent place in town.”

“Why am I buying?” Dean whined.

“What're you moaning about?” his brother smiled. “Last time you walked in in your uniform, they fed you for free! And that waitress was all over you.”

“I'm taken now”, Dean said. “Get a move on, bitch!”

“Whatever, jerk!”

+~+~+

Castiel watched from the corner of the room as the two men left. So Sam Winchester hated clowns. That figured.

Those psychics were annoying at times. Especially when they were right!

In a blink, he was at the farm where his namesake was lying on his bed, a goofy smile on his face. The man looked happier than the angel had ever seen him, and the latter watched as the man ran his hand over the small photograph he had been given earlier in the day.

Angels do not feel fear. Usually.

+~+~+  
1) Edward Coke (1552-1634), an English lawyer who drew up the Petition of Right (1628) against Charles I, asserting the parliamentary privileges over which the country would very soon fight a civil war. The ultimate lawyer, he is widely credited with the famous phrase 'an Englishman's home is his castle'.


	9. Chapter 9

May 4th, 1945 

This had to be a first. Dean Winchester finding ways to avoid sex with a gorgeous-looking man whom he really, really wanted. But the pilot felt, in his heart, that bedding the cute radar operator and then possibly going and dying on him just two days later if he lost the case – well, it would be wrong.

“You really do love him”, Sam observed. 

“Yeah, suck it up”, Dean muttered, not looking at him. “I can't, you know, do it with him and then leave him. It'll be bad enough losing him without that!”

“And he understands that?” Sam asked tentatively.

Dean hesitated. He hadn't been exactly honest with Jimmy over that, telling him that he had to refrain from all physical activity until he'd been seen by the doctor. The man had looked surprised at that – this was war, after all - but had seemingly accepted it. 

“You're taking him to dinner tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah”, his brother said. “There's a neat place in Deal; Vic recommended it to me. I hope he's okay.”

Sam knew what was unspoken there. The survival rate of those who bailed out of Lancasters was less than one in six, and Dean's crew had been exceptionally lucky to lose none of its crew. Victor had broken both his legs whilst making a large hole in some poor guy's roof. Kevin and Adam had bruising if ultimately safe landings near the same village, whilst Ash, almost predictably, had come down near a group of Land Girls and taken some time to return to the base, a soppy grin beneath the terrible hair. Someone up there liked bad hair!

+~+~+

“You're nervous?” Jimmy said, sounding surprised.

“Yeah”, Dean admitted.

Jimmy frowned.

“Is this because we're both men?” he asked, his voice breaking a little.

“No!” Dean almost shouted. He concentrated on parking the car before continuing, hating the upset look on the radar operator's face. “I've never cared what people think about my lifestyle, Jimmy, and I'm not gonna start now, especially....”

“Especially what?”

“Nothing”, Dean said dismissively. God this was so unfair. The guy was perfect in every way for Dean, yet there was every likelihood that he'd lose him, at least until Jimmy got to Heaven. And by that time, such a hottie would surely have found someone else and completely forgotten about the pilot. Dean sighed.

“Just, in my line of work”, he said, looking thoughtfully up the deserted High Street, “you get a lot of time to think, you know. I mean, its hours out there on a run, a few minutes dropping bombs and dodging flak, then racing straight home. Most of the mission is pure boredom, and you get loads of time to think on things.”

“After your last mission, I would quite like you to be bored, Dean”, Jimmy smiled. “Boring is safe.”

“True”, Dean said. “I was thinking on the way back last time about Heaven, you know.”

To his surprise, Jimmy laughed.

“What's up?” Dean asked, surprised.

“If I didn't know differently, I would swear that you had been talking to my brother Gabriel.”

“Why?” Dean asked. 

“We had a big party to mark our parents' anniversary”, Jimmy said, “and Gabriel thought it would be a good joke for each of us to attend as the angel we were named after. He somehow managed to fix it so that the only picture I could get of the angel Castiel was one of an angel in a trench-coat, like the one I wear, and with black wings. I remember asking him why the wings were that colour, and he told me that was because the angel had saved someone from a terrible fate and kept his wings that shade as a mark of his achievement.”

The urge to take the man to his car and, well, drive somewhere and just take the man was giving Dean a headache. He guided Jimmy into the small restaurant – La Dolce Vita – and they sat down. A waitress took their order and brought them water, before he resumed their conversation.

“Do you have many angel brothers?” he asked.

“Too many!” Jimmy smiled. “The party went about as well as could be expected. Michael and Lucifer fell out again....”

“Wait a minute”, Dean interrupted. “Lucifer?”

“He was an archangel before he Fell”, Jimmy said, somehow able to make the capital letter sound in Dean's head. He really should have taken those aspirin earlier. “Lucifer is in fact my favourite brother, as he shares my preferences for men over women. Michael and Raphael are both far too full of themselves, and Gabriel only lives to make fun and cause even more friction all round.”

Dean nodded. His head throbbed, and he reached for his water.

He didn't make it.

+~+~+

Sam was working through the notes on a case involving a wounded soldier when there was a knock at the door. 

“Enter!” he called.

A short, scruffy man entered. For the moment Sam wondered if this was the fabled Jimmy (Dean had threatened to hire clowns to follow Sam around for twenty-four hours if he tried to see the man himself), but something told him this wasn't him.

“Hullo?” Sam said politely.

“Um, I'm Doctor Chuck Deus”, the man said in an American accent, looking agitated for some reason. “Medical surgeon for the airbase. The guy at the gate said you're Sam Winchester?”

Now Sam was worried.

“What's happened?” he asked. “Is it Dean?”

“I'm afraid so”, the doctor said. “He collapsed in a restaurant this evening, and the guy he was eating with called an ambulance and accompanied him back to the base. I've done a preliminary examination, and I need to ask you a question or two.”

“Go ahead”, Sam said nervously.

“Has your brother ever suffered any head injury in his lifetime?”

Sam opened his mouth to say no when the memory hit him. His face turned a horrible shade of red. The doctor looked at him understandingly, and sat down in the chair opposite.

“Tell me about it”, he said softly.

“About ten years ago”, Sam muttered, not looking at his guest. “Dean and I were kids, playing in a friend's tree-house. We had an argument, and I pushed him out. He, uh, caught his head on a branch as he fell, and was out for a few minutes.”

“I take it the injury was not treated?” the doctor probed. Sam blushed even more.

“I was horrified”, he remembered. “I begged him not to tell mum and dad. They would both have been furious, and.....”

His voice trailed off. The doctor sighed.

“Do you know if your brother has ever suffered any blackouts?” he asked. 

“He wouldn't tell me if he had”, Sam said. “But he passed the tests to become a pilot. Why didn't they spot any damage?”

“It's hard to explain”, the doctor said, “but then most medical things are. Think of it like a steel rod being dropped. The impact causes a tiny weakness inside that rod to become larger. Nothing can be seen from the outside, but every time the rod gets knocked or bumped afterwards, the crack grows and grows, until one day the rod snaps, seemingly for no reason. The crack may not even have been visible on the outside yet.”

Sam hung his head. He'd done this to his brother. He was a horrible man.

“Are you going to operate?” he asked.

“It's the human brain, Sam”, the doctor pointed out. “The most delicate organism in the whole body, the central control from which everything runs. My initial tests suggest that the problem is a pressure from the brain pushing onto the skull, which we may be able to heal by cutting an incision and relieving that pressure. It is bad that we cannot ask him, but Dean had probably experienced one or two blackouts in recent times. I shall do an exploratory analysis tomorrow, and if it is what I think it is, we shall do the surgery the day after. You will need to sign the consent forms, I'm afraid.”

“Consent”, Sam muttered, “Yeah. Sure.”

Suddenly all that crap about angels didn't seem such crap after all.


	10. Chapter 10

May 4th, 1945 

Heaven was ruled by law. Which meant that there were certain things that angels were allowed to do, and certain things they were not.

However, the more creative angels very quickly discovered that there were several grey areas. So Castiel felt no compunction in using his powers to persuade the girls at the farm to conspire and give their room-mate a sleeping draught, which would give him the rest he would not otherwise get and which his body craved. Because the next two days would be awful, and he needed sleep now. And if anyone asked, he would say that as the man was likely to be called at the trial, it would be better for everyone if he were at least in a relatively alert state.

No other reason, of course.

+~+~+

Sam Winchester moaned in pain. 

God, everything hurt! He'd been on his way to see Dean in the hospital – Doctor Deus had assured him that they were keeping him sedated until the operation, so visiting him was pretty pointless all things told, but Sam couldn't just not go. And since the doctor had been on his way to his home in Dover when he had called in, Sam had had to take one of the base motorcycles. He had to see his brother as soon as possible.

Because you put him there, a voice whispered silently inside his head. He couldn't ignore it. It was right, damn it!

He had rounded a corner far too fast and seen too late the lorry parked there, blocking most of the narrow road. He had tried to brake, but it had been raining all day and the bike skidded on the slippery surface, before catapulting its owner unceremoniously into the roadside ditch. 

Sam dragged himself upright and looked at his wreck of a vehicle. Then he looked at the lorry.

No way!

It was a circus lorry. And painted on the back, although he could only see half of it because one of the two doors was open, was a clown's face! Two men were doing something through the open door. Sam stumbled up to them.

“Hey!” he called out.

They ignored him. Sam was cross.

“Hey!” he said, louder this time. They still ignored him.

“They can't hear you.”

Sam spun round to see a short man standing behind him. He was wearing a scruffy trench-coat and looked like he'd just walked through a tornado, given his untidy hair. And given the pair of huge black wings fluttering behind him, Sam's legal brain immediately leapt to two precise (and correct) conclusions. 

The guy was an angel. Ergo, Sam was most probably dead.

“Damn it!”

The angel smiled.

“I am sorry, Sam”, he said. “You took that corner far too fast, although I can understand that given the circumstances, you were a little distracted.”

“You think?” Sam said peevishly. “Gee, I'm dead, and my brother's gonna die in two days. How much worse can things get?”

Even though the angel said nothing, he somehow managed to make the silence rather poignant. Sam pulled himself together.

“Well, okay”, he said, sending a last disgusted look at the still parked lorry. “Um, Heaven?”

“Yes, Sam. You are going to Heaven.”

“So I can represent Dean in his trial, then?” Sam asked. “Silver lining, I suppose.”

“If he chooses you, yes.”

“He can't”, Sam pointed out. “He's unconscious in a hospital bed, remember?”

The angel sighed.

“Um, angel?” he said, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “And I should probably introduce myself. My name is Castiel.”

Sam stared in astonishment.

“The.....”

“Dean's love was named after me”, Castiel said. “Angels tend to keep watch over their namesakes, especially when they are so few and far between for those of us with less usual names. I am taking you to Heaven, and then I shall return for Dean. I shall just collect his soul, of course. His body....”

“I get it now”, Sam said heavily. “If he wins, the surgery will be successful. If not....”

“Cases like your brother's are, mercifully for all of us, quite rare”, Castiel said. “Let us leave.”

+~+~+

Sam stared back down the long golden stairway he'd just ridden up. Then ahead at the pearly gates before him. Castiel smiled.

“That is the point of Heaven, really”, he observed. “It is what makes people happy, and most people expect to ascend from Earth on a long golden stairway and find St. Peter waiting for them at the Pearly Gates. My Father thinks it is all a bit of a show, but Mother insisted.”

Mother? Sam decided not to ask. 

“God is your Father, right?” he ventured instead.

“Yes, Sam. No St. Peter today I'm afraid, as it's his day off. St. Stephen's deputizing.

“I thought there'd be a lot more people”, Sam said. “You know, with the war.”

“Time and space are different here”, Castiel said. “Hullo, Steve.”

“Castiel”, the tall man behind the desk intoned, looking at Sam over the top of round spectacles. “Sam Winchester?”

“Deferred entry”, Castiel said, much to Sam's mystification.

“Proceed.” The gates creaked open.

“What did you mean by that?” Sam asked once they were through. The angel hesitated.

“The Ancient Egyptians were quite close to the truth about how the next world works, Sam”, he said, and the man knew he was choosing his words carefully. “They thought that a man's heart was weighed against the Feather of Truth, and if he had committed too many sins in life, he went to hell. Few people's lives are blameless, but this is Heaven. We know about Dean's fall from the tree-house, and your part in the ensuing cover-up.”

Sam blushed.

“However”, the angel went on, “Heaven weighs the evil not against a feather, but against the good you have done in your life. Depending on how much the good outweighs the evil – and a single good act weighs heavy indeed – that decides on what sort of Heaven you get.”

“Will I see my Mom?” Sam asked.

There was a definite hesitation before the angel's answer.

“Yes”, he said. “Your brother's trial will have no effect on your own fate, but if he joins you, then that of course affects you both.”

That hesitation worried Sam. It worried him a lot.


	11. Chapter 11

May 5th, 1945 

“His boss has given him time off, Dean.”

That should have been the least of Dean's concerns, bearing in mind that for the first time in his life he was staring at his own body from the outside. The angel had returned, and they were watching Jimmy sat there, staring at his love. This stopping time thing with the normally loud hospital machines suddenly silent, well, it freaked Dean out.

“He loves me”, Dean muttered. “He deserves better.”

“His heart has made its choice”, Castiel said softly. “Did not the great Shakespeare himself say that love knows neither rhyme nor reason?”

“I hated studying him at school!” Dean said. 

His heart was almost breaking at the picture the smaller man made, his face drawn, a single tear frozen in its journey down his ivory cheek. Jimmy was perfect, and he didn't deserve all this crap. He didn't deserve to be sucked into the mess that was Dean Winchester's about to be terminated life.

“They'll say we can't have fallen in love so quickly”, he said bitterly. “But he's actually crying because of me.”

A thought struck him.

“Will they call him as a witness?” he asked anxiously.

“Almost certainly”, Castiel said. “And the prosecuting counsel will attempt to disprove his love for you. I wonder.....”

He stepped forward, and from nowhere pulled out a perfect red rose. Gently, he scooped up the tear off the young man's cheek.

“Evidence”, he said. 

+~+~+

Castiel broke the news of his brother's death to Dean on the stairway, as they ascended to Heaven. The pilot took it better than he had feared, which was just as well. It wasn't going to be the only piece of bad news he would be getting today. At least Castiel could leaven it with some good.

“Mom?”

Dean stared incredulously at the scene before him. This was exactly the sort of place his mom had told him they would have one day, a little place all by itself in the country, with a honeysuckle arch, manicured lawns and perfect gardens. And there, smiling at him from the other side of a white picket fence, was his mother.

“Dean, my love!”

Castiel made himself unseen whilst the pilot fell into his mother arms, her hugging him somewhat awkwardly across the fence. Dean needed this moment. 

Mary Winchester looked across and smiled at the reappeared angel.

“Thank you for letting me have this”, she said.

“It was my pleasure”, Castiel said sincerely. 

Dean was looking at the house.

“Dad's not there, is he?” he asked, almost fearfully.

“He is not in Heaven”, Castiel said shortly. Dean frowned.

“But why?” he asked. “I mean, I know he was a rat to me and Sammy; that's why I took him and ran when I did. But he did go back and try to save mom from the fire.”

“Dean...” Mary began.

“We cannot lie to him”, the angel said gently. “Heaven does not admit lies. Tell him, Mary.”

Dean stared worriedly at his mother. She sighed.

“Your father started that fire, son”, she said unhappily.

Dean frowned.

“But why....”

“Adam Milligan, your co-pilot”, Castiel said. “He does not know it himself, but he is not your cousin. He is your half-brother. John Winchester's son.”

“But Adam's the same age as Sam”, Dean objected. “That would mean....”

They were both watching him, waiting for him to put it all together. And finally he did.”

“Your father wished to start a new life with Adam's mother, Kate”, Castiel said. “He laid that fire. He gave your mother a sleeping powder, and went back only to make sure she had not woken up. He murdered her, as surely as if he had stuck a knife into her. Your Uncle Bobby suspected; that was why he let you hide out with him afterwards.”

Dean remembered that. It had been easy for the fifteen-year-old Dean to slip his little brother away amidst all the confusion after the fire. He knew John had been looking for them; he could remember the time when Bobby rushed him and Sam to the Roadhouse, saying John had found them and was on his way. Fortunately the odds over all that drunken driving had chosen that same day to catch up with his father, who had plastered his car all over a semi.

“So Dad went to Hell!” Dean snorted. “Figures!”

This time he didn't notice the looks between the other two.

+~+~+

Dean should have known that the angel would read his mind.

“You were wondering why Sam was not at the house”, he said. “Now he is dead, he can be your defence counsel at the trial. Besides, newly-arrived souls have to go through what I suppose you would call an acclimatization process before they get their wings.”

“Everyone has wings?” Dean asked, surprised. “I didn't see any on mom. Or a halo.”

“Most of the people who come here want to live their lives much the same way they did on earth”, the angel explained. “Wings tend to get in the way. Halos are reserved for saints and people on the upper levels.”

“Upper what?”

“You may have heard the expression 'to be in seventh heaven'”, Castiel said. “Actually there are twelve different levels, depending on just how good people were on Earth. This is the court room.”

Dean looked around. It looked pretty much like the rest of Heaven, all swirling clouds on the floor and faint, indistinguishable music coming from somewhere. There was a large seat up high, almost a throne, and before it six comfortable looking chairs each in their own semi-alcove. 

“The judge sits there”, Castiel said, pointing to the large chair above the other six. “Edward Coke has been appointed for your trial. He was one of the greatest lawyers ever, a hard man, but fair.”

“And the jury?” Dean asked. “Only six good men and true?

“Sam and the opposing counsel will have to choose between them”, Castiel said. “The judge casts a deciding vote if they are deadlocked. A simple majority decision, either way.”

“Who's prosecuting me?” Dean asked.

This time, he didn't miss the awkward pause. But he did not have long to dwell on it, because he heard a cough from someone who had materialized to the right of the jury seats. A man wearing long black robes. A man with black eyes. A demon.

His father!


	12. Chapter 12

May 6th, 1945 

“Court is in session!”

Edward Coke sat down regally, arranging his flowing robes before nodding to the Archangel Michael. Normally a lesser angel would have served as Clerk of the Court, but this case was so important that God had appointed the leading archangel to the role. 

“Please be seated!” Michael said.

Dean looked round. The judge and jury set-up of yesterday had been augmented by two small lecterns before them, one for Sam and one for his... for John Winchester. He could feel millions of pairs of eyes looking down on them all, and knew that this was not just him. This was huge.

“Gentlemen”, the judge said heavily, “in light of both the unusual nature and importance of this case, I am moved to pass quickly on to the swearing in of the jury. Each of you has given me a list of names as to whom you wish to have. This is Heaven, so we cannot force anyone to serve who does not want to, but I shall note that the first three names on each of your lists did so agree. I shall start with the prosecution's choices first. Ye are summoned!”

A fine-looking dandy appeared in the first chair, and looked balefully at Dean and Sam.

“Giovanni Casanova”, Sam whispered. “Someone who thought a man should love as often and frequently as possible. Not a fan of romance.”

“Figures!” Dean whispered back.

A young man in what looked like Elizabethan apparel appeared in the second seat. He looked quite attractive, and he too stared at the brothers.

“Henry Stuart, better known as Lord Darnley”, Sam whispered. “Murdered by his wife Mary Queen of Scots so she could marry her lover, Bothwell.”

“So not fond of the love thing”, Dean muttered back. “I'm sensing a pattern here.”

A woman appeared on the third chair, with a definite regal air about her. She wore an odd squarish head-dress, and curtseyed to the judge before sitting down.

“Catherine of Aragon”, Sam said. “Queen of England before Henry VIII ditched her for Anne Boleyn. Died in relative poverty.”

“Great!”

“And now the jurors selected by the defence”, the judge said in a loud, clear voice. “Ye are summoned!”

A young man wearing what looked to Dean like a bed sheet appeared in the fourth chair. He smiled at the pilot and sat down.

“Antinous”, Sam explained. “Emperor Hadrian's lover, in the days of the Roman Empire. The emperor faced a whole load of trouble because of their love, and the boy eventually drowned himself rather than put the man he loved in danger.”

“And you chose him?” Dean asked dubiously.

“Who better to know about love's sacrifices?” Sam said. Dean wondered what he meant by that.

The fifth chair was being taken by another guy in ancient garb, though this time he was a soldier, sharp-faced and unsmiling. He looked across to the brothers and his face remained expressionless.

“Who's he?” Dean hissed.

“Hephæstion”, Sam explained. “Lover of Alexander the Great. If anyone knows what it is to love and deserve that love, then he does. And a truly great soldier of his day, so he knows the military.”

Dean looked at the sixth and final chair. A stately-looking lady – lady, not woman, he knew – was arranging a modern and expensive-looking ball dress, having curtseyed to the judge.

“Queen Alexandra, late wife of the current English king's grandfather”, Sam said. “Her husband was openly unfaithful, but when he lay dying, she still brought his favourite mistress to his bedside.”

“Your choices suck!” Dean muttered. He might as well start being fitted for those wings now.

+~+~+

“Members of the jury”, the judge said slowly, “the matter before you is a strange business, yet an incredibly important one. Such a situation has never arisen before, and upon your shoulders falls the not inconsiderable weight of reaching a decision as to the fate of the defendant. You already know that Death himself is represented by the prosecuting counsel here, but let that not sway you. All who come before this as any court, great or small, deserve true justice.”

“Despite the great import of this matter, the case is fundamentally a simple one. Due to an error on the part of Heaven, Captain Dean Winchester did not die at his appointed time. I am to understand that such an occurrence has occurred on a very small number of occasions throughout the history of humanity, and until now, matters were easily remedied. This time, however, there was a complication. When he was summoned, Captain Winchester pleaded that, during the extra time availed to him – and I remind you again that we are not judging the rightness of wrongness of his having that time, merely the consequences that arose from it - he fell in love with an English radar operative, a Mr. Castiel James Novak, commonly called Jimmy.”

“Now, the matter at hand is this. You must decide whether Captain Winchester and Mr. Novak are indeed in love. Should you deem that they are, then clearly his date of arrival here must be reset, and I expect the authorities to be suitably generous in that new date, given that the original mistake was indubitably their fault. Should however you decide that he is merely using this relationship as an excuse to avoid his fate here, then you must find for the plaintiff, Death. Finally, I would remind you that regardless of your decision, the defendant's place in Heaven is guaranteed. Thank you for agreeing to do your duty, and I trust you to do it both thoroughly and honestly.”

The judge turned to the two counsels.

“Gentlemen”, he said, “this case is further complicated by the fact that the defendant is known personally to both of you. I shall therefore take this opportunity to remind you that the rules of this court are set in best Portland stone, and include my good self having the power to make an immediate and binding ruling against either party, should I decide that they are abusing their relationship with or knowledge of the defendant. As I am sure you are both aware, there is no appeal once my judgement had been passed. I trust that I make myself clear?”

Sam bowed, and Dean saw his father nod curtly.

“Very well”, the judge said. “John Winchester, you are here representing Death, who by the nature of events, has a claim on the body of the defendant. You will make your opening statement, then you, Sam Winchester, will make yours. There will be no interruptions from anyone. Please begin!”


	13. Chapter 13

May 6th, 1945 

It figured that his deadbeat dad would make a good lawyer, Dean thought sourly. If all dogs went to Heaven, then surely most lawyers would go to Hell!

The judge caught his eye, and Dean remembered a moment too late about the mind-reading thing. Then he caught a slight quirk at the corner of the judge's mouth and relaxed a little.

“This substance of this case is very simple”, John Winchester said, walking across in front of the six jury members. “Before the crash that should have killed him, my.... Captain Winchester spoke with Mr. Castiel Novak for a period of time that was barely three minutes in duration. Not even two hundred tiny seconds, I say. Yet he would have us believe that, during that time, he fell in love. With a voice!”

Dean could see his brother's knuckles whitening as he gripped his lectern. He hadn't know that happened up here.

“Now, owing to a marginal oversight by the Human Souls Collection Agency, whose practices I am sure are under review as we speak, Captain Winchester did not die when he should have done. A fall from a plane without a operational parachute is invariably fatal, yet despite impacting into the sea at in excess of two hundred miles per hour, he survived. Moreover, due to a most unfortunate set of circumstances, his not dead but unconscious body floated ashore at a point where, as it happened, he chanced to meet with the person he had spoken to for that short time. A further meeting was arranged, which was interrupted by an angel sent to inform him of what had happened, whereon he refused to obey Heaven's most righteous command. Quite unreasonable of him, I am sure you will agree. Your decision is, as I said, a simple one. I put it to you that Captain Winchester could not have fallen in love to the extent he claims in such a short period of time, and is using his relationship with this other person to avoid his destiny.”

Dean would have leapt to his feet to say something about that, but his brother's restraining hand was already on his shoulder. Sam hesitated before slowly rising to his feet.

“Members of the jury”, he said gravely, “your decision today is, as my colleague has said, a simple one. My learned colleague claims that true love cannot be established in such a short period of time. I say to you, bunkum!”

Dean bit back a chuckle at the look on his father's face at that.

“It is true”, Sam went on, “that our opinions of and the way we feel towards our fellow man do change. But, barring any dramatic actions on behalf of the subject, they do not change that much. Love, true love, is rare, but I say to you that when these two men spoke over the radio for that short period of time – and yes, it was but a short time – there was indeed true love between them. It is a fact that they had not yet met, but which of us who has been lucky enough to know love's full force does not understand that, when it happens, it happens completely and overwhelmingly. I also remind you that Captain Winchester and Mr. Novak had full three encounters before Heaven stepped in to try to remedy their error; over the air before the crash, on the beach, and at the picnic where Captain Winchester was addressed by the angel sent to retrieve him. Finally, I would remind you that whilst this is a court of Heaven, this case must also be judged by Earthly law, as the oversight took place on Earth. Thank you.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Winchester”, the judge said with a faint smile. “I think that I may claim to have some grasp of Earthly law after four centuries of studying it! The prosecution may call their first witness.”

+~+~+

“Your name?”

“Samandriel, sir.”

“You work in the Human Souls Collection Agency, do you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please describe the events of May 2nd as regards your failed collection of Captain Dean Winchester.”

The young angel blushed.

“I was sent to collect Captain Winchester, who bailed out of his plane at a point over the English coast near the town of Dover. He was returning from a bombing mission over northern Germany, and his plane had been badly hit. Unfortunately there was a extremely thick fog, and it took me a long time to locate anything. And when I did, I realized that it was the wrong plane.”

“Why did you not immediately correct your error?”

“I had to land to dry my wings out. It was my first time on Earth, you see. By the time I was able to resume my search, Captain Winchester had already bailed out of his plane and plummeted to his death.”

“Or not death”, John Winchester said. “Remain on the stand, if you please.”

+~+~+

“This was your first mission, was it not?” Sam smiled.

“Yes, sir”, Samandriel said. 

“Did your Father discuss the matter with you afterwards.”

“Oh yes!”

A couple of the jury members suppressed chuckles. 

“What did he say?”

“He said that, given the circumstances, neither I nor my superior that day should take any further role in the matter”, Samandriel said. “He feared that there would be what he called a conflict of interest.”

“Well, as he is God, one may presume he was right!” Sam smiled. “Thank you.”

+~+~+

Samandriel's boss was up next, the Archangel Raphael. He gave Dean a nasty look, but had nothing of import to add, for which Dean was quite thankful.

“For my next witness”, John Winchester said with a sly smile, “I call Samuel Winchester.”

“What?” Dean hissed.

“It's all right”, Sam said. “You spoke to me about it. Technically I am a witness.”

Dean still didn't like it.

+~+~+

“Did Captain Winchester speak to you about Mr. Novak?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Was this before or after the angel sent to collect him informed him of the error?”

“Before”, Sam said, suppressing a smile at the disappointment that answer evinced.

“What did he say? Precisely, please?”

“He expressed a wish to marry him.”

There were gasps from both the watching galleries and the jury. Only the judge remained unperturbed.

“He is aware that it is 1945 on Earth, and that men do not marry men?” John Winchester said icily.

“He loves him”, Sam said simply. “And yes, he used the actual word. I can safely say.....”

“No more questions!” his father cut in.

“Mr. Winchester”, the judge said sharply. “I would remind you at this point that, although the court grants you the right to question the defence counsel as a witness, it similarly grants him the right to make a statement on his behalf as well.” He turned to Sam. “What is it that you wished to say?”

“I was about to say that, except when talking about our late mother, my elder brother has never, on any occasion, used the word 'love'.”

The judge's eyebrows shot up.

“Never?” he said dubiously.

“Never!” Sam said firmly.

The judge's eyes seemed to bore into him.

“You are speaking the truth”, he said. “Interesting.”


	14. Chapter 14

May 6th, 1945 

The next few witnesses did not go well for Dean, several of his former base colleagues who admitted, reluctantly, that he had always been a ladies' man. Clearly his father was trying to show that Dean loving a man was just a fraud. However, when his father called Victor, his friend insisted on telling the court about the shot up 'chute, which he himself had known about but not commented on. His father clearly did not like that at all.

+~+~+

“For my first witness”, Sam said clearly, “I call Mrs. Ellen Harvelle.”

The radar station manager stepped before the court and curtseyed to the judge, who smiled at her.

“Mrs. Harvelle”, Sam said, “Please describe the events concerning the discussion over the radio between your employee Mr. Novak, and Captain Winchester.”

“I knew he was a goner”, the woman said with a sigh. “It's something in the voice, you know. But Jimmy still chatted with him, until the signal went down. He must have been almost on top of us.”

“What happened next?” Sam pressed.

“I let Jimmy go and cry in the bucket room.”

“The what?” the judge asked, clearly confused.

“Sorry, your honour”, she said. “It's a small room where we keep the cleaning stuff, well away from the work area. When things get too much for one of the girls, they go and have some time there to themselves. If they come back with tear-stained faces, no-one says anything. I make sure of that.”

“And Jimmy was crying in there?” Sam asked.

“He was”, she said firmly.

+~+~+

“You cannot know that Mr. Novak was crying in that room”, John Winchester said acidly.

She gave him a sharp look. The demon flinched.

“Listen to me, 'sir'”, she snapped, her voice openly disrespectful. “I know my girls, and Jimmy is one of the best. If I say he was crying, he was crying. End of.”

“But you cannot be sure.”

“Ruby went in there the other week when she lost a man”, she said. “I am one hundred per cent sure. No doubt about it.”

“I rather think we have established that talking down a doomed pilot would be an emotional experience”, the judge said heavily, “and since at the time Mr. Novak could have had – indeed, still has - no idea as to what is happening with Captain Winchester, then I see no reason to doubt Mrs. Harvelle's word. Please move on, counsel.”

John Winchester frowned, but sat down.

+~+~+

“You are the angel Castiel.”

“I am, sir.”

Dean stared in wonderment at the angel. Even though physically he was identical to his human namesake, there was just something.... different. Dean felt absolutely nothing for him.

“You were the angel assigned to inform Captain Winchester of the error made by the Agency?”

“I was.”

“Why? It is not your usual responsibility, I believe?”

Castiel smiled slightly.

“As well as all the laws that so wisely govern the Heavenly realm”, he said, “our Father allows us to keep an eye on those people who share a first name with us. There are precious few people on the planet who bear my name, and when I understood that one was involved in this case and that, for obvious reasons, the original collecting angel should not be further involved, I asked to be considered.”

“You spoke with Captain Winchester?” Sam asked.

“I did. By that time it was clear that there was some sort of relationship between himself and my namesake.....”

“Objection!” John Winchester shouted. “You could not possibly know that!”

“My Father did”, Castiel said, eyeing him coolly. “He told me that, should Captain Winchester cite the relationship as cause not to come, then I was to offer him a trial. The trial herein.”

“Please be careful with your answers”, the judge said. Castiel bowed his head.

“I believe that, during your time on Earth, you collected something from Mr. Novak?” Sam said.

Sachiel nodded. “I did”, he said.

He took a rose from seemingly nowhere, and placed it on a glass table that appeared to receive it.

“I ask that members of the jury take a look at this”, Sam said. An image of the table and rose appeared before each of the six chairs. “At first, you will see only a pure English rose. But look closer, and you will see that what appears to be a single drop of water on its petals is in fact a human tear. A tear shed by Mr. Novak as he sat watching over the broken body of man he loves.....”

“Objection!”

“Sam Winchester!” the judge said warningly.

“I withdraw the broken body part”, Sam said with a smile. “But the tear is evidence. Evidence of true love.”

His father glared across at him.

+~+~+

“You say that you have monitored your namesake during his life”, John Winchester said, frowning. “His whole life?”

“I was not there when he was conceived”, Castiel said dryly. “I rather suspect that Mr. and Mrs. Novak might have objected!”

Dean bit back a chortle. Someone on the jury didn't. His father scowled.

“Has he ever been in love before?”

“I do not believe so.”

“So that's a no?”

Castiel stared at him.

“I am a seraphim, not a cherubim”, he said patiently. “Matters of the heart are not my speciality. He may have had some, I believe they are called crushes on some men. But not anything more. Had he had any serious romances, that I would have been able to detect.”

“So how can he go from never being in love to being suddenly and completely in love?” John Winchester demanded with a sneer.

“Love has neither rhyme nor reason”, Castiel said. “Shakespeare. I have always thought love is a little like the English weather. Lots of fog, plenty of rain, some sunny days, and the occasional lightning strike. It is not for me to look into the heart of a man, even if he bears my name. But my opinion, for what it is worth, is that he is in love with Captain Winchester, and that the tears he has shed, of which that before you is but one, prove it.”

“We only have your word for that being a tear”, John Winchester said.

The silence was palpable.

“You are here as a guest”, Castiel said, and Dean suddenly realized that that was more like his namesake's growl, except far more menacing. “You have the protection of this court, regardless of whom you represent. But if you ever question the word of the Angel of Thursday, John Winchester, be assured that the Hell that is your daily existence is indeed within my reach!”

Dean did not fist-punch at the visible alarm on his father's face. But it was close.


	15. Chapter 15

May 6th, 1945 

“It's going all right, isn't it Sammy?” Dean asked.

To his surprise, his brother shook his head.

“You forget the way courts up here work”, he said heavily. “The dead naturally support the case of Heaven, even Death's claim on you. If the jury thinks there is even reasonable doubt that you love Cas, then they will find against you. I'm gonna have to put you on the stand.”

“I do love him!” Dean said hotly.

“Hey, you use the L-word!” Sam said, managing a weak grin. “That's enough to convince me. But the jury will need more.”

+~+~+

Dean stared incredulously at his brother. The man was supposed to be on his side, damn it!

“Please answer the question”, Sam said coolly. “A number of your fellow airmen have, under oath, portrayed you as a ladies' man, a man who lives and loves only on the surface. Is that portrayal accurate?”

“Well, yeah, it is, but.....”

Dean stopped.

“But?” Sam prompted.

“Then I met Jimmy”, Dean said softly. “I mean, I know he thinks I'm good-looking – he's told me as much – and I know he thinks he's just ordinary, but when I look at him.... it's kinda weird.”

“Weird how?” Sam asked.

“I feel like he's it, you know”, Dean said. “Yeah, I've put it about a lot as a guy, and I'm not proud of that now. But I look at that face, and I just know.”

Sam seemed to think about it.

“You were spoken to by the angel Castiel?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“That angel is physically identical to his namesake. The records show that you were not immediately aware that he was an angel, so did you feel any attraction towards him?”

“Of course not!” Dean said hotly.

“Why not?”

“Eh?”

“Why not?” Sam repeated. “To look at, the two are indistinguishable; indeed, had he appeared to you when Castiel was not beside you, there is every likelihood that you would not have known the difference. You claim that you love Jimmy, yet you felt nothing for someone who was identical to him in physical appearance. Why?”

“Because he's not Jimmy”, Dean said slowly. “Anyone can see that. It's Jimmy's soul I love, not his body.”

“Well, he is hardly that attractive, I suppose.”

“Hey!”

Several jury members jumped at the sudden noise. Dean blushed.

“Sorry”, he said defensively, “but that's Jimmy he's talking about.”

Sam smiled.

“No more questions for now”, he said.

+~+~+

Dean could feel himself trembling inside as his father – the demon that had been his father – rose and looked at him. This was the man he had respected for a large part of his life, a man he'd tried and failed to live up to.

The man who had killed his mom. The man could have him killed. And worse, separated from Jimmy.

“Captain Winchester”, his father said coldly, “I have to say that your claim for remission of sentence is really beyond belief. That you, an admitted ladies' man, just happened to fall in love with a man at exactly the moment of your death, providing you with what you hoped would be an excuse to avoid your rightful end? Hogwash!”

“It's the truth”, Dean shot back.

“But we only have your word for that”, John Winchester pointed out.

“You have Cas' tear”, Dean said. “Grown men don't cry, unless for a good reason. Can't think who told me that.”

The demon visibly reddened.

“How much do you love this person?” he snapped. “Enough to die for him?”

“Enough to die for him”, Dean said firmly, “though I'd rather live, thanks.”

“Your Honour, I move for the defendant's case to be dismissed”, John Winchester said, looking supremely bored by the whole thing. “It is about as substantial as a soap bubble and, in my humble opinion, simply an excuse concocted by a man who wants to get back to his ladies. Which he would do immediately were we for some reason to swallow this cock and bull story.”

“Then why didn't I just claim it with a girl?” Dean pointed out. “Why Jimmy? I'll tell you why! Because I love him!”

Mutterings could be heard from the watching crowds, until the judge raised his hand. There was an immediate silence.

“Sam Winchester”, he intoned, “it seems that an important part of this case revolves around the heart not just of the defendant, but of the man he claims that he loves. I would ask as to whether you intend to call Mr. Novak as a witness?”

“I do, Your Honour. He is currently at the bedside of the defendant, and has been there ever since the restaurant.”

“Objection!” John Winchester snapped. “Irrelevant.”

“Overruled”, the judge said. “Mr. Novak's fidelity to Captain Winchester is indeed relevant. But in his current somewhat fragile emotional state, I believe that separating his soul from his body over any distance would be inadvisable. Therefore we shall go to him. The court will adjourn whilst Arrangements are put in place.”

+~+~+

Jimmy stared in awe at the assembled throng. The operating theatre was a small one, and he was outside looking through the small round glass window in the door. Or had been, until he had realized that he was no longer alone. The door to the theatre was still behind him, the glass misted over with his breath. He guessed that that, and the fact that the second hand on the wall clock was frozen, meant that somehow time had stopped for him. 

The far side of the room had been replaced by a huge open space, stretching back further than he could see. He could feel countless people watching him, and he started as he recognized Dean and, from a photo Dean had shown him, his brother Sam at one of a pair of lecterns. He shivered instinctively at the thing standing across from them. 

There were six people sat in alcoved chairs beneath a throne, on which a judge sat in what looked like ancient robes. Jimmy stepped forward and bowed to the judge, who smiled at him.

“Mr. Novak”, he said carefully, “our apologies for interrupting your vigil. The situation is this. Four days ago, Captain Dean Winchester was scheduled to die. Shortly before that, as you know, you talked with him over a radio device for some little time. Because of an error on the part of Heaven, his soul was not collected at the time of his crash, and he ended up meeting you in person soon after. He claims that he should be granted remission of sentence as he is in love with you. Is that true?”

“I love him with all my heart”, Jimmy said, looking nervously around at everyone. “I cannot see how someone as brilliant and handsome as he could love someone like me, but I think that he does.”

“The truth of that statement is what this court is here to decide”, the judge said. “These two men, counsels for the prosecution and for the defence, will ask you questions. Please answer truthfully.”

“Yes, Your Honour. I will.”


	16. Chapter 16

May 6th, 1945 

Somewhere at the back of Jimmy's mind, a message arrived that the prosecution counsel stepping forward to question him was not only a demon, but also Dean's late father. He shuddered.

“I would remind you”, John Winchester said coldly, “that it is a sin to lie. Lying to a Court of Heaven – well, I am sure you can work out for yourself that the consequences would be most unpleasant. Are you in love with Captain Winchester?”

“Yes.”

“Can you prove that?”

“Of course not.”

“Hah!”

“Unless you can read my heart”, Jimmy said, fixing the prosecutor with a sharp look. “I have never loved before, and this terrible ache, this overpowering fear – well, it is horrible! I had never thought that someone like me would find someone to love them, especially from one so pure and good....”

“Good?” John Winchester spat out. “Do you know how many women he has slept with in the past year alone? Women, I should point out. And now he claims to love a man! You, of all people!”

“I am not much to look at”, Jimmy said quietly. “But I think I know when I am being lied to, and when I am being told truth. Dean says he loves me, and that is enough.”

“It may not be enough to save him, though”, John Winchester said, turning to the judge. “No further questions your honour, but may I reserve the right to recall this witness?”

“So ordained”, the judge said. “Sam Winchester?”

Sam stepped forward.

“Hullo, Jimmy”, he smiled.

“Hullo”, Jimmy said. “Dean talks a lot about you.”

“I am sorry that we never met on Earth”, Sam said.

Dean looked at his brother anxiously. He knew that voice. Something was definitely up.

“Jimmy, the matter before this court is simple. Do you love Dean?”

“With all my heart.”

“How much do you love him, Jimmy?”

The smaller man frowned.

“I don't understand the question”, he said. 

Sam took a deep breath.

“Do you love him enough to take his place in Heaven?”

“Sammy!” Dean yelled. “No!” 

He moved to surge past his brother.

“Your Honour, I ask that my client be restrained”, Sam said.

The judge held up his hand, and Dean disappeared momentarily, reappearing next to Jimmy with his hand outstretched in supplication. The smaller man trembled, but did not touch him.

“Yes”, he said. “If it will spare Dean's life, I shall take his place. Without him, my life would be empty.”

“This is not a game, Mr. Novak”, John Winchester warned. “You are going to die, do you understand? You will not see Captain Winchester for many a year, and he will more than likely find someone else in his time on Earth! He will forget you completely!”

Jimmy fixed him with a look. The demon took a step back.

“If that is what it takes to save the man I love”, Jimmy said firmly, “then so be it. I will pay the price for the man I love.”

He stepped forward, shaking only slightly as he moved away from Dean and onto the bottom stair of the huge golden stairway. Then slowly, the stairway began to ascend, leaving the pilot behind. Jimmy stared back, sure he could still make out a tear on his lover's face, but did not move.

“Hah!” John Winchester said triumphantly to his younger son. “You see? So much for all those claims of true love. The law that governs Heaven and Hell conquers..... aargh!”

His triumphant speech was curtailed by the escalator juddering to an abrupt halt. The demon fell to the floor, whilst Sam managed to remain upright only by grabbing the lectern. He rebalanced himself and stared triumphantly across at his fallen father, pointing at him.

“Very true!” he said loudly. “In Heaven, nothing is stronger than the law, and that is how it forever shall be. But on Earth, ladies and gentlemen – nothing is stronger than love!”

“My son”, the judge said to a bewildered Jimmy. “Go to him.”

Jimmy nearly fell over his feet as he fairly flew down the stairs (he would later find out that only the intervention of his angel namesake had prevented such a calamity), and raced into the arms of the now unfrozen pilot, who swept him round and kissed him.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury”, the judge intoned, “the case of Captain Dean Winchester has been laid before you, and I think it is time for you to do your duty. You have seen the love between these two men, such that one would yield everything, up to and including his own life, to save the other. Kindly convene, and consider your verdict.”

The four men and two women gathered together in front of the judge, and only consulted for a few moments before Hephæstion stepped forward.

“We find unanimously for Captain Winchester!” he said firmly.

Dean kissed Jimmy again, just to make sure. And to celebrate. And because he wanted to. The smaller man did not seem to have many objections.

“Thank you all for your service today”, the judge said to the jury. “Michael, I believe you have the new date for Captain Winchester's, ahem, considerably deferred arrival here?”

The archangel stepped forward and showed a scroll first to Sam, then to John Winchester.

“Far too generous, in my opinion”, John Winchester sniffed. He fixed his elder son with a baleful glare. “Watch yourself, Dean. There will be many temptations for a man such as you between now and then, I'll make sure of that!”

“I have the man I love!” Dean retorted, only narrowly avoiding sticking his tongue out at his father. “You can temptate all you damn well like!”

The demon vanished with an explosion of flame.

“I wish they wouldn't do that”, Michael sighed. “It takes an age to clean up.”

+~+~+

“I should have asked for you as well”, Dean said, shaking his brother's hand. Sam shook his head

“I'm gonna spend the rest of your life watching over you”, Sam said, “making sure our deadbeat dad doesn't try anything. I'll have mom up here as well, remember? And Jimmy has his very own angel, so he'll be all right.”

“Thanks, Sam”, Jimmy smiled. “Dean?”

“Huh?”

“I think Heaven can wait!”


	17. Chapter 17

May 8th, 1945 (Victory in Europe Day)

Castiel was only slowly aware that he was being watched. He sighed. Was privacy really too much to ask for?

“I am God”, his Father said, materializing beside him. “And that was a incredibly foolish question, my son!”

The angel stood there a moment longer, watching the two men lying in bed together. The pilot was sat up, the smaller man held between his legs, the two half-awake and half-asleep as they recovered from their recent coupling. Outside, the sound of the distant street party could still be heard.

The war, in Europe at least, was over. And Castiel's work was done. He left the room quietly, followed by his Father. 

“You liked him too”, God said gently.

Castiel nodded.

“He made his choice”, he said. He looked down at the limited human form that he had grown so fond of in the short time he had had it, one his brother Gabriel had joked was 'the holy tax accountant look'. “I am happy for him.”

“Not jealous?” his Father asked. 

“A little”, his son smiled. “They both have such good hearts, and are a credit to humanity. I would have liked to have found Dean first, but I do not see how an angel and a human could ever be together.”

“Hmm”, God said thoughtfully. “Stranger things have happened. I should know!”

+~+~+

May 10th, 1945 

Dean shut his eyes and prayed. 

“I would have thought you already had everything you wanted.”

He opened his eyes and looked into a familiar pair of dark blue ones. He knew immediately.

“Castiel”, he said. “Thank you for coming.”

“You are worried about Sam, are you not?” the angel said gently. 

Dean nodded. Castiel thought for a moment.

“Do you remember the tree-house?” he asked.

The man stared at him in surprise.

“Yeah”, he said uncertainly. “What about it?”

“I rather thought 'Doctor Deus' would have explained it to you”, Castiel said. “The injury to your brain; it was caused when Sam pushed you out of the tree-house that time. And had you sought treatment, the build-up of pressure that caused you to have to undergo surgery could almost certainly have been avoided.”

“Are you saying he..... killed me?” Dean asked incredulously. “Is that why he died. You mean he.....”

“Not what you are thinking”, the angel said firmly. “It was a genuine accident; Sam was fated to die at that time, just as you were a few days earlier. The only difference is that the angel sent to collect Sam got it right.”

“You”, Dean said. 

“Yes, me.”

Dean sighed. 

“I suppose I should be grateful that the guy sent to get me made such a botched job of it”, he said ruefully.

“It was Samandriel's first job”, Castiel said evenly. “And mistakes do happen. A miracle he went to the wrong plane, a miracle you drifted onto the beach near Jimmy's work place, a miracle he was leaving work just when you came round.....”

Dean looked hard at the angel. 

“Wait a minute”, he said slowly. “Are you saying that you.....”

“Enjoy your life, Dean”, Castiel grinned. “We will only meet again when your time is finally up, many, many years from now. Unless you fail to look after my namesake of course, in which case the fires of Hell or even John Winchester himself will come as a blessed relief compared to what I will do to you!”

He vanished with a faint swish. Dean stared after him.

+~+~+

May 15th, 1945

“Ready for our last date?” Dean asked, as he pulled up in the borrowed car. “I'd say Missouri's surpassed herself with the hamper this time, except she said there was no pie.”

“I picked up one from a local bakery”, Jimmy explained, showing a sealed pie box. Dean immediately reached for it, only for the angel to move it to the side.

“Cas!” Dean whined, batting his eyelashes at the smaller man. “Pie!”

“Pudding comes after the main course, Dean”, Jimmy said with a laugh. “Hence the term afters! And I'm Cas now?”

“You'll always be my angel”, Dean promised. “Might as well start using your angel name, eh?”

He looked hopefully at the smaller man.

“You're still waiting for the pie”, Jimmy – Cas - grinned.

Goddam!

+~+~+

It really was a glorious summer's day, and they enjoyed the delicious spread, though Cas twice caught Dean trying to open the pie box early. 

“All right”, he said. “But I'm not sure you will actually want the contents of that box.”

“It's pie, Cas”, Dean said mulishly. “How can a man not want pie? That's unnatural!”

Cas chuckled, stood up and picked up the pie box. He set it between the two of them and, tantalizingly slowly, lifted the lid. Dean glared at him for being a tease – then froze.

The pie looked gorgeous, but for once in his life Dean's attentions were not on the flaky goodness. For nestled in a small pastry casing on the top of the pie were two gold rings. He stared in astonishment as Cas lifted them both out.

“This one is your mother's”, he said. “Sam told me – well, he told Castiel who got it for me. He also resized it for me, and put our initials on it. I hope that's all right.”

Dean stared. He knew this had been his mother's favourite ring, one she had got from her own mother Deanna. And now it was his.

“Castiel also did the initials and resizing on my ring as well”, Cas explained, looking a little nervous as Dean was just staring at the two rings. “And he added a tiny sapphire to yours and an emerald to mine, so we could know the difference and be reminded of each other's eyes.”

“Cas”, Dean said slowly. “They're perfect. You're perfect.”

“I'm really not”, the smaller man said, blushing.

“All right”, Dean grinned, putting on his ring as Cas donned his. “But we've got a few decades to work on that, eh?”

“I do have some bad habits”, Cas admitted, reaching for a cutter. “For one thing, I tend to grab more than my fair share of pie!”

“Hey!”

+~+~+

God looked down on the scene approvingly, and snapped a picture. The wife really loved happy endings.

“So do I, brother.”

God turned round.

“Checking up on what you missed?” he asked dryly.

“He was never going to be mine this time”, Death grinned. “We both knew that.”

“Hmph!”

Death quirked an eyebrow.

“Are you suggesting that I lost the case deliberately?” he said with the faintest of smiles.

God looked hard at his brother, who was Not Blushing again. Very loudly.

“That would be a totally bizarre suggestion”, God said flatly. “Why, that would be akin to... to.... to your deliberately choosing Dean's father as your representative because you knew losing would make his time in Hell even more horrible. Outrageous suggestions both, would you not agree!”

They stared at each other for some moments.

“Free will is very important”, Death said at last.

“Yes”, God agreed. “Within certain limits, of course.”

“Of course.”

Another silence.

“Was he mad?” God asked.

“Totally ballistic!” Death sniggered. “It was glorious! I'll send you both the shots later.”

They both chuckled, as beneath them the two men kissed each other gently.


	18. Epilogue

May 15th, 2008

There were times when Dean Winchester didn't know what he had done to have Cas in his life. The guy had been prepared to die for him – well, technically he had for a few seconds – he had come to a new country to be with him, and was now in some ways more of an American (and, of course, a Texan) than the so-called natives. Yeah, his husband had his faults, but hey, Cas was eighty-eight years old, and if he didn't have the right to be a grumpy old man now, he never would.

All right, Cas had always been a bit grumpy at times, even back in the Old Country. Mornings especially; if he didn't have to get up, it took a huge amount of begging and cajoling to get him from out under the duvet. In their younger days Dean had been able to employ more, ahem, athletic measures of persuasion, which had usually worked. Although sometimes Cas would simply take everything Dean gave him and then fall asleep afterwards, usually embracing the taller man in an octopus grip from which there was no escape.

Not that Dean wanted to escape. Ever! 

He looked at the impossible scruff napping beside him, and grinned before checking his watch. He had fallen asleep after their favorite show, the story of two brave hunters of the supernatural called (coincidentally) Dean and Sam Winchester. Dean had been a bit miffed to see his character getting killed off in the finale just gone, but he knew that a fourth series had already been commissioned, so it would soon be Dean Winchester Redux. He would have to wait several months to find out how.

Judging from the trench-coated figure that had just materialized next to the TV screen however, that might not be an option. Dean's eyes widened.

“Please tell me you're here for me!” he begged.

The angel scratched his untidy thatch of hair. It was weird, Dean thought, seeing his husband as he'd been back in those dark days of the trial, especially when it was definitely not the husband asleep beside him.

“Not exactly”, the angel said evasively.

“Huh?”

Cas chose that moment to wake up, pulling himself up alongside his husband (gay marriage was not yet legal, but to everyone important they were husbands in all but name). The shorter man pulled on his glasses and squinted at the angel.

“Well?” he asked.

“It was something of an unusual request”, the angel said. “But given the import of the original case, my Father was minded to grant it. Though he did check first.”

“He's not taking you, Cas!” Dean said firmly. “Over my dead body!”

Two pair of identical blue eyes staring at him made him realize the incongruity of that statement. He blushed.

“Your man here asked me for something back in 1945”, Castiel explained. “I pointed out to him that, given the shock that that your case had caused around Heaven, ruffling even more feathers so soon might not go down very well. So I waited until later before approaching my Father.”

“Approaching him about what?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“I asked for less time”, Cas said, looking a little unsure with himself. “ Castiel here told me that he had looked at my own date, and whilst he could not tell me when it was, it was some years after yours, even though I'm eight months older.”

“You.... asked to die?” Dean said incredulously.

“I asked to live in Heaven”, Cas said simply. “Being on Earth without you would not be living, Dean. That was true back then; it is still true now.”

Dean was not gonna cry. He wiped his eyes of a not-tear.

“Considering that you had just asked for an extension of your time”, the angel explained, “Heaven would probably not have taken it well if the man you loved had then asked for less. Father had to clear it with his brother therefore.”

“Your uncle?” Dean asked.

“We don't refer to Death as 'uncle'”, Castiel said with a smile. “He tends not to like it, or worse, he reminds Father that on similar grounds he is 'uncle' to all the demons. It was agreed that your two dates be balanced out, a day off one and onto the other. Sadly your combined time is up as of" - he looked at his watch and hesitated for a few seconds - "now.”

Dean stared as his husband as the latter seemed to rise out of his body, the new Cas being the same adorable scruff he had first met on that beach over seven decades ago, identical to the angel watching them yet somehow totally different. Then Cas was lifting him out of his own body, and the two embraced. Dean melted into the gloriously muscled body once more, sighing happily. It felt like coming home.

“Heaven can no longer wait”, the angel smiled. “Come, gentlemen.”

He watched the two of them step onto the bottom step of the long golden stairway, which began to bear them up to their destiny. Looking back, he took a moment to arrange the two now lifeless bodies so they were gently embracing, then turned to follow the two men up the stairway to Heaven.

Then he hesitated, and turned to look at the TV screen. Really, that show they both liked (and that he may or may not have watched on the odd occasion). Its obsession with demons was disturbing, and now they were going to have one associated with Dean Winchester's raising from perdition. Why did they not use angels for a change?

A marginal realignment of reality was all it took, setting one of the kindest actors in the profession up to win a new role in the show. And if some months later Castiel smiled when a familiar figure strode boldly into the barn and announced that he was the one who had gripped Dean Winchester tight and raised him from perdition, well, such a small thing was hardly going to change the history of mankind, was it?

Ah........


End file.
